


The Twelve Days of Clintasha

by Crazy4Orcas, kiss_me_cassie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Birds, Chickens, Christmas, Clintasha Week, Cows, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fluff, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy4Orcas/pseuds/Crazy4Orcas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: The Twelve Days of Christmas, Clintasha style.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 137
Kudos: 67





	1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Our submission for The Twelve Days of Clintasha hosted by [clintasha-week](https://clintasha-week.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

The mark’s party was in full swing when Clint saw her practically swallow her own tongue as Natasha entered the room. He couldn’t blame the woman really; the dress Nat wore was a complete knockout - red, strapless, and clingy in all the right places. It was almost enough to make him wish he were actually _at_ the party and not perched in the branches of a nearby tree simply keeping watch through a window.

For a moment, he got lost in thoughts of peeling that stunning red dress off of her, imagining the goosebumps that would rise on her skin as he drug his calloused fingers across the pale softness. And then the flush that would spread as his lips followed where his fingers had just been...

Natasha’s voice over the comms snapped him back to the present. “Patridge, do you read?”

Clint scowled. She’d been calling him ‘Patridge’ ever since the first mission planning meeting when he’d chosen the pair of fruit trees in the mark’s rear garden as his perch. “It’s _Hawkeye_ , remember? And yes, I can hear you.”

"The mark is planning on making the exchange as soon as jolly ol’ St. Nick arrives with his bag of goodies for the children."

"Perfect. Just when most of the party-goers won't be paying attention to anything else," Clint said as he swept his scope across the front of the house, checking the guards’ positions. "Do you know where they plan on making the trade?"

"Intel suggests near the back stairs," she replied briskly. Then her tone got a little more playful. "So are there still any pears up in that tree or --"

"It's an _apple_ tree," he grumbled.

"Really? I could have sworn the schematics said pear."

"The schematics said ‘fruit orchard’, if you want to get technical."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, as you well know," he said through gritted teeth. She was enjoying this situation a little too much for his liking. 

"Ok, whatever you say, _Partridge_ ," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice as he refocused his gaze on her and saw her sip from a champagne glass.

"It's not --" he started to protest again, but he stopped abruptly when he heard her start humming “The Twelve Days of Christmas” under her breath. Fuck. He wasn't going to get that song out of his head for the rest of the night.


	2. Two Turtle Doves

“Natasha!” Clint hollered as he stormed into the living room of their apartment. He waved a nearly empty candy bag at her and glared.

“Yes, Clint?” she asked, briefly glancing up at him as she calmly flipped through her magazine and sipped her tea.

“They. Are. All. Gone.”

“No, they’re not,” she replied and flipped another page. “I left two.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Two out of a whole bag. A bag that wasn’t opened when I left this morning.”

She did look up at that, her face a picture of pure, angelic innocence. “But you know they’re my favorite.”

“That’s not gonna cut it,” he huffed. “You said that about the peanut butter cups. And the Snickers. And the chocolate covered cherries.”

"Your point?"

"You ate all my Turtle Doves," he complained, dropping down onto the couch. He turned the whine factor in his tone up a notch; maybe this time the guilt would get to her. "And I was really looking forward to them after that meeting with Fury this afternoon."

Natasha rolled her eyes and without a word, untucked her legs from beneath her and rose from the couch, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment before coming back to the living room and dropping something in his lap. Several somethings. He looked down to find an unopened bag of Turtle Doves, a king-sized Snickers, and a large box of chocolate covered cherries.

"No Reeses?"

She snickered. 

"No. Because when you kiss me after eating those, I can taste them on you and … ugh, second-hand peanut butter," she said, making a little face and crinkling her nose. It was … adorable and almost made him forget that she’d still eaten almost a whole bag of his Turtle Doves.

He reached out and snagged her around the waist, pulling her back down on the couch next to him and nuzzling her neck. “You know you still owe me for the Turtle Doves, right?”

She sucked in a breath and leaned into him. “But I replaced the bag.”

He nipped at her ear. “Doesn’t matter.”


	3. Three French Hens

"Uh, Nat? You copy?"

"Yeah."

"How long until you get back here with the meds?"

"Not long now. I'm maybe thirty minutes out."

"Good."

"Why? You okay, Hawkeye? Or do you just miss me already?"

"Always. But no. I'm worried about the birds."

"Birds?"

"There are birds in this barn."

"What kind of birds?"

"Chickens. Hens, they don’t have those big things on their heads anyway."

"Ok, birdbrain, how many of these chickens are with you?"

"Three. That I can see, at least."

"Fine. There are chickens in the barn with you. Watch them, talk to them, do whatever you want. But don’t you dare tear those stitches out trying to play with them."

"I'm not going to play with them! They're not that friendly looking. They're actually kinda scary. The red one closest to me is huge and looks like she wants to peck my eyes out."

"Are you sure you’re not starting to hallucinate? Send me -- Ok, got it. Let me just open the vid. Ha! She does look like she wants to peck your eyes out. And is the white one in the back scratching the ground like she's preparing for attack?"

"See? I told you. They're very scary chickens."

"Shoot them if they start to bother you too much."

"Natasha!"

"I’m kidding! Although if they really are that threatening …"

"Yeah, yeah. I really hate the French countryside. Tell Coulson we can't take any more missions here. From now on, it’s either Paris or the French Riviera. Preferably the French Riviera and you in a bikini.”

"As flattering as that is, what if I told you I have Opéra gâteau for you?"

"You got opera cake _and_ meds? How?"

"I have special skill sets."

"That you do."

"Hang in there, Hawkeye. Me, my Opéra gâteau, and the meds will be there shortly to rescue you from the hens."

"Roger that. Looking forward to it. Be safe."


	4. Four Calling Birds

Natasha checked her secure sat phone when she got back to the safehouse after a long day tailing her mark. The legwork on this mission, gaining background info and mapping out the mark’s routine, was not only exhausting, but boring too. Hopefully she’d be able to make her move within the next week.

She was surprised to find a message from Mockingbird, since she knew Bobbi was on assignment in Hong Kong. She couldn’t think of a reason she might be calling.

_Hey, uh, so. Remember that time with the thing? No, not that thing, the other thing, with the Russian triplets and the Latverian ambassador? I need to know the name of the drug you used on the bodyguards. And the lipstick shade too! That was fabulous._

Quickly calculating the time difference, Natasha figured she had a chance to connect with Bobbi and called her back. Her call went to voicemail.

_It was a ketamine cocktail FitzSimmons worked up, check with them. And don’t laugh, but it was MAC Matte Russian Red. Hope it works for you. Let’s get together for drinks next time we’re in the same place. Clint’s not invited._

Two days later, she was desperate for any type of conversation that didn't involve giggling at the most inane comments from her mark or pretending to enjoy the lascivious 'compliments' from his friends. So when she saw she had yet another voicemail, she eagerly listened to the message, which turned out to be from Falcon.

_Hey Nat. I don’t know when you’ll have a chance to get this. Hopefully soon. Need a favor and it’s kinda urgent. I need to get past a heavily encrypted firewall for some… uh... really important intel._

Natasha seriously doubted his urgent need for ‘important intel.' It was more likely that he was trying to hack into Bucky’s or Steve’s laptop for some prank. Still, she called him back after making herself a cup of tea and gave him a couple of pointers. She could appreciate a good prank, especially if Bucky was the victim. She made Sam promise to let her know if he was able to retrieve the information he was looking for, then told him to tell her how Bucky reacted. She hung up while Sam was spluttering an excuse.

Late the next night, after a full day of cozying up to her mark and finagling an invitation to his villa for the weekend, she found a message from her second favorite Hawkeye.

_Not to worry you or anything, but is Clint allergic to any medications? And do you know any of his family's medical history? This form is so confusing. Why can’t they just… I don’t know… shine a light in his eyes and tell me he’s concussed so I can take him home? No, Clint, I am not… I know but… Sorry, Natasha. I have to go. Byyye!_

She immediately called Kate back but her call went straight to voicemail so she left a brief message asking Kate to get back to her as soon as possible. Or possibly demanding a call back. It was hard to keep her cool when it came to Clint and injuries, although she should be used to it by now.

Kate hadn’t sounded overly worried or panicked and it had been clear that Clint had been right there with her, so it couldn't have been anything overly serious. But Natasha was still concerned about what the hell he'd gotten himself into this time. He was currently assigned to SHIELD headquarters, leading a couple of training courses, so shouldn’t have been involved in anything risky.

She paced the tiny apartment for a bit, waiting for the call back, then decided to take a shower. Prowling the flat wasn't going to make Kate call her any sooner, and a hot shower would at least help her relax and wash the feel of the mark off her skin. 

Her phone buzzed just as she was getting into a soft pair of sleep pants and one of Clint’s t-shirts. She snatched it up, immediately recognizing Clint's number. "What the hell happened today, Barton?"

"Uh, I may have slipped on a patch of ice while trying to catch Lucky at the park?" he said, voice sheepish and tired.

Natasha snorted. "Ice? Really, with your balance?"

"A squirrel may or may not have also been involved. You have to admit it’s better than falling off the roof. And no dumpsters involved either."

"Only you. But seriously, you're ok?" she asked, her voice softening.

She could practically see him nodding. "Mild concussion, didn’t even lose consciousness. Docs say I'll be fine so long as I don't make a habit of it. And Kate and Lucky are making sure to wake me up regularly to check on me."

“I’m on schedule for wrapping things up here in a couple of days. I’ll make my debrief quick and then you’ll be subjected to my tender loving care.”

“Looking forward to it, babe.”

Natasha was relieved enough that the ‘babe’ didn’t faze her. “Yeah, you just wait. I owe you for worrying me.”


	5. Five Golden Rings

"As Special Agent in Charge, by the power vested in me by SHIELD and Director Fury, I now pronounce you husband and wife. What Fury has joined together, let no man put asunder. At least not for the next seventy two hours," Coulson declared, handing each of them a gold ring. 

"Look honey!" Natasha crooned as she slid hers onto her ring finger. "They match this time.”

"And for god's sake, do not lose them _again_." Coulson warned. "Requisitions will have my head if you do."

"Rebecca been giving you a hard time?" Clint asked, slipping on his own ring.

"Ever since she got that promotion," Coulson muttered, stepping back. "But I mean it. Do not lose them. Otherwise, good luck and godspeed. Have a prosperous data retrieval, successful assassination, and all that happy honeymoon jazz."

"So how many times have we been married now?" Clint asked idly as he guided them out of Coulson’s office and through the maze of corridors towards the hangar and their waiting quinjet.

"Four," Natasha answered, ticking them off on her fingers. "Monaco, Belize, Paris, and the thing in Budapest that we shall not speak of ever again."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Really? I could have sworn it was more than that."

"You're thinking of Montreal, but that was just an engagement. We never actually made it down the aisle."

Clint snorted. "Like we walked down an aisle for any of them."

"Speak for yourself," Natasha said, smirking. "That was one hell of an aisle I walked down in Paris."

"Yeah, as a runway model. That's really not quite the same thing," Clint said. He shot her a quick wink, "Although you looked amazing in that one dress - the white one with the silver stars and the slit up to your hip?"

"I always look amazing," Natasha said, as they got to the jet and stepped aboard. "But I know exactly what gown you're referring to. It's a pity it was ruined when you spilled wine on it. Though it was fun when you ripped it off me.”

She gave him a wink and a little feline smile that had him lost in thoughts of ripping silk and soft skin for a few moments.

"So, uh, I was thinking," Clint said, as they got settled in the cockpit. His voice sounded a little tense and she stopped taking inventory of her weapons to glance over at him; he was rarely tense or nervous at the start of their missions, especially not ones as run of the mill as this. There was a telltale flush of pink at the tips of his ears that let her know whatever he was about to say, it was something big, something he thought he might regret, maybe even something serious. 

"Out with it," she demanded.

Clint rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. "What do you think about making ‘us’ official once we finish up with this? Stop pretending to be married for missions and just do the deed?"

She almost dropped the widow's bite bracelet in her hand. She studied him for a long moment, long enough that he started fidgeting with the quinjet controls, and he _never_ fidgeted with the quinjet controls. “You're serious?”

He nodded, looking her directly in the eye. “As a heart attack. You know I love you. I want to be Mr. Romanoff.”

“But what if I want to be Mrs. Barton?”

“Is that a yes?”

Her face split into a wide grin. "That is absolutely a yes. And you don’t even have to get me a ring."


	6. Six Geese A-Laying

“This is ridiculous. A total waste of our talent,” Clint grumbled under his breath as he kept lookout while Natasha hacked into the security lock on the door. “Geese, schmeese. What was Coulson thinking?”

“Are you done complaining yet?” Natasha asked and he heard the frustration in her voice. It seemed she was just as irritated with this mission as he was; she was just better at hiding it.

“No. No, I am not done complaining,” he replied mulishly. “Isn’t rescuing a soulmate goose just a little below our mission standards?”

Natasha turned away from the lock and leveled a withering glower at him. “Did you even look at the mission specs?”

“I glanced over them." He paused and then admitted, "Briefly.”

“You obviously missed a couple things.”

“Like what? They sent us to retrieve a soulmate goose. I didn’t even realize goose kidnapping was a thing. And hey, would that be considered kidnapping or goosenapping?”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and went back to picking the lock. “What you missed is that the goose we need to retrieve is Fury’s.”

“Fury’s? No shit!”

Natasha finished with the lock and opened the door, but stopped so abruptly that Clint almost ran into her. It wasn't just the smell of the goose poop, which was unpleasant, but not so overwhelming that it made her want to retch. No, it was because there wasn't just one goose; there were multiple geese in the room.

"There are six of them," she said flatly, looking at the six geese laying in the mess of straw strewn across the floor of the room. 

"What?!" Clint exclaimed, looking over her shoulder. "That can't be right; there's only supposed to be one goose. One! If there are six…"

"Then that means there are enough soulmate geese here for six people - possibly three couples - and not just the one goose we were assigned to retrieve."

"Great. Any suggestions on how we determine which one is Fury’s? And his soulmate’s, if it’s even here with his?"

"Not a one,” Natasha replied. She closed the door on the geese so they could figure out their next move; the last thing they needed was one or more to escape and having to chase it around the building.

“Hey, did any of them have an eyepatch?” Clint asked, blatantly ignoring the glare she aimed at him. 

"Funny. I don't think soulmate geese identify quite that closely with their humans."

"No, of course not," Clint grumped. "It's never that easy. So, what? We take all six and hope we can figure out who they belong to when we get back?"

Natasha shrugged. "I guess so. So how do we want to do this?"

"I'm not sure, but watch where you step when we go back in there. You’re not flying back in the quinjet with me if you're covered in goose poop."

An hour later, after going through hell trying to wrangle the six pissed off geese, they finally got them secured in the hold of the quinjet. Surprisingly, the only major injury after all their goose herding was a long scratch across Clint's forearm. Natasha ignored his complaints that he was going to need stitches and a tetanus shot.

With their avian passengers taken care of, Natasha and Clint finally got the plane up and in the air. They settled into a comfortable silence, but Natasha noticed Clint surreptitiously sneaking glances in her direction.

"So, have you ever seen your goose?" Clint asked curiously after a bit.

"No. The Red Room eradicated the soulmate gene in all the girls.” She paused and cast him a sidelong glance. “Have you?"

Clint grimaced. "Nope. Guess my goose is a dud. I haven't seen hide nor feather of it."

A loud honk from behind them made both of them jump. Turning, Natasha noticed one of the geese had somehow managed to escape from the cargo hold. 

"We've got an escapee. I'll go get it," Natasha offered, unbuckling and heading towards the back. Which is when another goose popped up out of nowhere and appeared next to the first one. 

“Hey, Nat, the feed from the camera in the hold is showing four geese. We’ve got two escapees,” Clint called out with a quick glance back at her.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"How'd they get free?" Clint asked in surprise.

She rattled the lock on the hold but it didn't budge. 

"Not clear. The latch is still secure. But I think we have a slightly bigger problem than that at the moment," she said, as one of the geese pecked viciously at her leg. She tried to shake it off, but it kept coming at her. She darted back towards the cockpit, the goose close on her heels.

The other goose came up behind the first and spread its wings, flapping menacingly at Clint. "What the --?"

Natasha's goose charged her and with limited space in which she could make a tactical retreat, she wound up tumbling into Clint's lap. He wrapped his arms around her automatically, steadying her against him. Suddenly, the geese settled down.

"Did there, uh, happen to be any other information in the briefing that I missed?" Clint asked, clearly puzzled. "Like what happens when a goose is successful in its matchmaking?"

"But that’s impossible, I don’t have a goose,” Natasha started. “The Red Room…”

One of the geese hissed at her and pecked her foot. Natasha leaned away from the angry bird and closer to Clint.

The other bird clucked encouragingly. 

"I think you may have been misled on that," Clint ventured. "I think _that_ may be your goose. And I think the other bird may be mine."

Natasha turned to look at him and had the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss him. Sparks seemed to be crackling along her nerves where his hands were holding her. Months, possibly years, of sexual tension coming to a head. From the look on Clint's face, he seemed to be having similar feelings. Without giving it any more thought, she leaned in and met his mouth with hers in a searing kiss.

The two geese in the cockpit shared a satisfied look and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Angry Goose of Destiny ™ is a THING. Check out more Goose fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Angry%20Goose%20of%20Destiny) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/The%20Angry%20Goose%20Of%20Destiny).


	7. Seven Swans A-Swimming

"Ok, Barton, I'm here as requested," Natasha started. "Your message was just a bit cryptic - ‘Public Garden, high noon, dress comfortably.' What’s going on?"

Clint gestured with his arm, indicating the red and white checkered blanket, picnic basket filled to the brim, bottle of wine, and frisbee. “What does it look like?”

She cocked her head at him. “Like you’ve lost your mind in the middle of a recon mission.”

"You wound me!" He sighed dramatically. "All I want is for us to enjoy a nice, leisurely picnic, and tempt you into a ride on one of Boston's world famous swan boats. You know McAlister is tied up with his lawyers all day, we can relax for one afternoon. Come on Nat, it’s a beautiful day, let’s enjoy it."

Natasha stood staring at him for a long moment before grudgingly settling down next to him on the blanket. She peeked in the picnic basket and felt something warm and fuzzy settle in her chest: there were pierogies, taquitos, what looked like his homemade sesame noodle salad, and a bunch of other foods she loved. She also spied a container with a batch of his triple chocolate caramel pecan brownies in it. She wondered when he’d found the time to put all this together, but quickly dismissed the thought - Clint was almost magic with food.

"You made sesame noodle salad," she said, somewhat in awe.

He shrugged, but looked pleased. "It's one of your favorites."

She plucked the container from the basket and Clint handed her chopsticks. The noodles were delicious as was everything else he’d brought and soon they were both comfortably full.

“Okay, frisbee time,” Clint declared and hauled Natasha to her feet. “I’ll teach you a game Barney and I used to play when we were kids.”

From what Natasha could tell, there were no real rules to the game Clint tried to explain to her, but she was having fun anyway. They got into a competition over who could make the most ridiculous catches and it wasn’t long before they were both laughing and exhausted.

"You ready for that swan boat ride now?" Clint asked after they’d made another dent in the food and finished the bottle of wine.

She blinked at him. "You were serious about that?"

"Sure? Why not? Think of this as the vacation we never get to take. Hopefully we’ll even see Romeo and Juliet, the real swans." He stood and held out his hand to her, which she took. Pulling her to her feet, they strolled hand-in-hand over to the kiosk where Clint paid for their tickets and they boarded one of the seven boats at the dock.

They settled onto one of the bench seats and Clint wrapped an arm around her, like any other couple that had boarded with them. 

"Face it, Nat, my plan for today was a great one." Clint tugged her just a little bit closer and pressed a quick kiss to her temple.

She leaned back in his arms and sighed happily. "It wasn't bad. Not bad at all."


	8. Eight Maids A-Milking

"I bet you ten bucks," Clint dared her, smirk firmly in place as he pointed at the sign over the entrance to the brightly colored tent.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Make it twenty and you're on. Dinner, too, winner’s choice."

"Done!" he declared gleefully and held out his hand for her to shake. “You’re going down, Tasha.”

The stout older woman at the front of the tent where the fair was hosting the competition spoke up again. "Do we have another brave soul I can tempt into joining our milking competition? We just need one more. Going once, going twice --"

"I'm in," Natasha piped up, ignoring Clint, stepping forward and giving the woman her sweetest smile.

"Bless you dear, that makes eight young ladies in total, which is exactly how many we need to begin," the elderly woman said, taking Natasha's arm and leading her into the tent over to a placid looking brown and white heifer at the end of the line of eight cows. "This is Bertilda. She's an absolute sweetheart and shouldn't give you any problems."

"I'm sure we'll get along just fine," Natasha said. She gave the cow a quick rub between her big brown eyes. "Won't we, Bertilda?"

As the woman moved away, she turned to look at Bertilda in her bovine eyes. "I've got twenty bucks on this thing. If you make me lose, I'm turning you into ground beef. Maybe a filet mignon or two."

Bertilda just ignored her and went back to chewing the hay in front of her. Natasha took a seat on the short stool provided, scooted closer to Bertilda and patted her on her ample rump. She braced the bucket between her feet to keep it steady.

"All right, ladies," the old woman trilled. “On your marks, get ready, get set… Milk!"

Natasha firmly grasped two of Bertilda’s teats and began milking her in a smooth rhythm. The two minute timed contest went faster than she’d anticipated as she concentrated on keeping her pulls firm but gentle so Bertilda wouldn't kick out at her or move. After all, dinner, money, and Clint’s ego were on the line.

After time was called and the eight buckets were weighed, Natasha was declared the winner. The look of amazement on Clint’s face was well worth the fact that she’d stepped in a pile of cow dung once she'd finished milking. 

"What is your name, dear?" the contest hostess asked.

"Natalie," she replied smoothly.

"And where are you from?"

"My husband's people are from Waverly."

"Ah, wonderful! That's a beautiful area. We're so glad you decided to come all this way to the state fair today."

The hostess presented her with a beautiful hand painted enamel bucket filled with ice and dairy products - various cheeses, flavored butters, ice cream, and even a couple of bars of soap.

Thanking the woman, Natasha took her bucket of bounty and sauntered back to where Clint was waiting. "I'd like my thirty bucks, please."

"Thirty!" he protested. "We agreed on twenty!"

"That was before I won," she smirked. “And I want filet mignon for dinner. If you're nice, I might even share my ice cream afterwards.”


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing

Clint entered the dance studio and was tempted to turn around immediately and make a clean getaway. Before he could do more than pause, however, Natasha caught sight of him and he could read her expression from across the room - it promised dire consequences if he so much as _leaned_ in the direction of the door behind him.

He really thought the lesson would have been done by now, but obviously it had gone over. He nodded at the group of women watching the class in the waiting area near the door and ignored their curious glances. Surely they realized he was here for Natasha and not one of the little dancers in pepto-bismol pink tutus.

“Ok class,” Natasha was saying. “We’re very lucky to have a friend of mine here to help me demonstrate a lift.”

Clint groaned inwardly. While he certainly didn’t mind partnering Natasha in a ballet lift - in fact had danced with her several times - he didn’t want to be the center of attention in this group of ballet-moms. They looked like they wanted to eat him alive.

Natasha continued, “And if we’re extra good at paying attention, he may be persuaded to partner each of you in a lift too.”

The eight little girls all giggled and clapped their hands. One little girl piped up, “We’ll pay good attention, Miss Natasha.”

“Clint, if you could join us,” Natasha called out to him. He shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it on an empty chair, and made his way over to the group on the dance floor. He caught himself giving Natasha, in her skin-tight dance attire, a somewhat lecherous once over but reined himself in as she smirked knowingly at him. Now was neither the time nor the place. Maybe later once the dance lesson was over.

“Ladies,” he greeted the group and all the girls giggled again. Natasha graced him with a smile and mouthed a ‘thank you’.

He took up position behind her, hands at her waist, and she explained to the girls how the lift worked. Like in most things, they moved in concert with one another and he lifted her smoothly as she jumped. It was a simple move, just straight up and hold for a moment, but he still appreciated how well they moved together.

The class clapped as he set her down and she explained the lift again before instructing the girls to line up for their own turns. There were a couple of high-pitched squeals during a few of the lifts, but after each little girl had been lifted twice there was more laughter than anything else.

Natasha wrapped up the class, each dancer thanking both her and Clint as they headed towards their waiting parents. After all of the girls and their mothers had left, Natasha clicked the lock to the studio door into place and turned back to Clint, who was still out in the middle of the dance floor.

“Dance with me?” she asked, holding out her hand as she made her way back to him.

Grasping her fingers, he twirled her into his arms then lowered her into a graceful dip. “Always.”


	10. Ten Lords A-Leaping

Natasha scrambled into the tank and quickly seated herself behind the controls. Luckily it was already running and she didn’t need to worry about getting it started. She glanced over the controls and pulled the lever to turn it around and stomped down hard on the gas pedal.

As she plowed the tank through the fencing surrounding the cartel’s compound, she spotted the building she’d seen the guards march Sam and Clint into. Hopefully they hadn’t been subjected to the tender loving torture of the cartel's interrogators just yet.

She took perverse pleasure in decimating the parked luxury cars that were in her way. The sound of Mercedes, BMWs, and Lexuses crunching beneath the tank's treads made her smile. If she hadn't been so concerned for Sam and Clint, she might have even considered it fun.

As she flattened the last car in the row, an alarm sounded and a rush of people ran from the building to see what was going on. She recognized the faces of the top ten drug lords in Columbia amongst the crowd and steered the tank in their direction. They scattered, leaping out of the way. Later, when recounting the story for Steve and Tony, she would admit that part had actually been incredibly enjoyable.

Sam and Clint were two of the last to exit the building, both of them shedding their handcuffs as they fought their way through the handful of guards still on alert. She steered the tank in their direction, stopping mere feet from them. 

Sam goggled at her in awe and she smirked. "What, you never drove a tank through the secret headquarters of the ten most notorious drug lords in the area?"

"No, I can't say that I have," Sam said, whistling appreciatively and scrambling up into the tank.

Natasha looked down at Clint, who was grinning at her with a prideful expression that hinted at a more private and personal thank you much later.

“Get in, loser. We need to finish taking down a drug syndicate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact - a group of ten people is called a decuplet


	11. Eleven Pipers Piping

"Holy shit, Tasha! Is this what I think it is?"

"Yup. Original, not a reproduction," she said smugly. “A 1937 International Harvester D2 original exhaust pipe.”

Clint let out a low whistle and pulled the polished chrome from its shipping box, turning it around and around in his hands so he could admire the entire length of it. Natasha didn't know how one end differed all that much from the other - weapons were her specialty, not car parts - but it didn't really matter what she thought. What mattered was that Clint knew the difference.

"How on earth did you find this?" he asked, looking at her in awe.

"Trust me, it wasn't easy," she said, leaning back against the fender. "I tried ten different dealers with no luck. But then the tenth guy gave me a lead on one last pipe guy and voila - brand new, old exhaust pipe."

"You tried eleven dealers to find a part for me? You don't even like the truck."

She shrugged. "But you do, so…"

He carefully set the pipe down then walked over to her, bracketing her between his arms against the truck. “You just wait until I get her fully restored. She’s got a huge bench seat, with plenty of room. I’ll take you parking.”

Natasha slid her arms around his waist and nuzzled his neck. “That might persuade me to like this heap of junk. As long as you agree not to paint it purple.”


	12. Twelve Drummers Drumming

The working sounds of the hospital faded into background noise as Natasha sat at Clint’s bedside. His face was mottled with bruises and his left arm was encased in a garish purple cast to stabilize a broken wrist and two broken fingers. Somehow, even with those injuries, he’d still been able to wield his bow. Then, at the end of the battle, he'd fallen and been knocked unconscious. But unlike all the other times, he hadn't woken up moments later.

It wasn’t as if Clint getting injured was an unusual experience; he seemed to wind up in the hospital fairly regularly. But this time was different and the cold fear in the pit of Natasha's stomach refused to go away.

She stroked her fingers over the back of the hand she was holding. His hands had always been so gentle with her, even though they were strong and calloused. Natasha got lost in memories of his hands; images of him firing his bow, working on his piece of junk truck, sliding them tenderly along her skin...

“I hope you know how much I love you,” she whispered.

“Tash?” 

She startled at the sound of his papery whisper. She'd been so lost in her thoughts and memories that she hadn't realized he had finally woken up, 

"What happened?" he asked, blearily looking up at her.

“Fall from a roof. The docs said you'd be okay if you woke up within twenty-four hours,” she said softly to him as she pressed the call button to alert the nurses that he was awake.

He licked his dry lips. “I’m not so sure about that. It feels like I have twelve drummers banging around in my head and I could've sworn I heard you say you love me.”

She leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You did. And I do. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"Can't promise that," he said. "But I can promise you I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here is the end of our twelve day journey! hope you all enjoyed and have a fabulous 2021!


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